2007-08-19: DF: Be A Good Girl


DFJessica_icon.gif DFMolly_icon.gif

Summary: It's high time someone finds out where a certain captive is.

Dark Future Date: August 19th, 2009

Be A Good Girl

Syndicate Headquarters, New York City

The past couple of weeks have not been quiet. The world is in turmoil. The ripples that flow disastrously out from the political crises tend to affect the Syndicate less than, say, people who care about things like "sides" — but there's been more tension, more buzz behind the walls of S*Y*N and, namely, its upper levels ever since the President was taken. The boss has been especially hard to reach, but her seeming phsyical absence goes unmarked; few know her face anyway. It's midday, now, when Jessica stalks down one of the dark and shining corridors of the towering building. It's a floor like any other, except that it houses one important room: Molly Walker's. Dark as the walls in a fitted black business suit, there's a severe expression on the blonde's face and a stack of papers clenched in one hand; she grasps about sixty papers in that hand, and all of them are crumpling. Her heelstrikes on the marble floor are sharp, purposeful and echoing.

While Molly isn't always in her room when Jessica comes a'calling, she is right now. Lounging on her bed, she's got a set of keys that she's tossing up in the air and catching with a clinking sound. The girl isn't even old enough to drive, but that doesn't seem to bother her any. A self-satisfied little smile curls on her face as she thinks back over her little forays into the city. The sound of Jessica's heels is hard to miss. While the girl hears her boss' approach, she does nothing to be more accommodating. All she does is continue to toss those keys. Maybe she's counting how many times she can do it before she drops them.

Jessica, and her telltale footsteps, halt outside of Molly's room. A lock disengages electronically beside the door and she urges it open slowly without another sound. "Mooolllyy…" she calls out under her breath, a touch too monotone and low to be called singsong. With that, she slips inside the nondescript room and kicks the door shut with her heel. "Sixty-eight." She gets straight to the point, barely giving the girl's new plaything - the keys - a glance. She holds up the papers, thoroughly unimpressed, even disgusted. "That's how many people've approached the Syndicate wanting to use youuu to find Nathan Petrelli in the past three days." A hint of a smirk flashes, wry.

"Well aren't I just the creme of the crop, the hot commodity, the luckiest girl in New York." The keys are tossed up and snatched out of the air with a snarky sort of finality. Abruptly, Molly sits up and tucks the keys into her pocket. "Only sixty-eight? I'd have thought it'd be more. Biggest missing person case in years and the only sixty-eight people come to you to find him?" More people don't know about her than know about her. Or at least what she can do. Maybe that would explain it all. "I think your marketing scheme is off. I should be able to jump out onto a sea of people, all clamoring for me to find the President."

"Didn't show you the ones from right after the kidnapping. Coulda made us rich, if, you know…" Jessica gives a light, scoffing laugh, lifting her brows. "We weren't already. Now? They're givin' up hope." She holds the stack in front of her and flips through the papers, tossing them to the side carelessly, one after the other until, finally, she throws the whole bunch of them down. Walking through the veritable tornado of papers, her boots pinning several of the pleas to the floor, she stalks across to Molly. "You're gonna find the President for one person," she tells the girl, leaning down closely to be eye level. "And one person only."

Eyes flicking over to the papers as they one by one they are tossed aside, Molly is disinterested. She's had some plans and plots and fun of her own lately. She even got a car out of it. "Oh, if only they knew. No reason to give up hope." Because Molly knows where the President is. In fact, she was so close she barely needed to concentrate to see where he was. Jessica's approach is watched with the same sort of emotionless expression. One that really doesn't care what this tough blonde has to dish out for her. "Oh, I'm sure of that. But are you that one person?" Is she joking? Is she testing the woman who could literally tear her limb from limb?

Jessica plants her hands on her own knees as she stands in front of Molly-she's not going anywhere, it seems, until she's gotten an answer. Unamused, the woman's cold expression doesn't change save to become more determined. "He's been gone long enough. I don't have time for games."

"Maybe I'm not playing a game." Molly sighs and puts her elbows on her knees. Then, she props her chin on her hands. "I've been here for, what, a year? Two years? Long enough. You only come here when you want something. I thought we were supposed to be buddies. You're supposed to be parental or something. Instead you let me run around and do whatever I want, like steal cars and shoot presidents. Now what kind of parenting is that?"

Not playing games, huh? Jessica gives a faint roll of her eyes, as if she can't believe Molly would have the gall to say something like that — but in fact, it doesn't surprise her at all. "You shot— " She holds up a hand and closes her eyes briefly. Never mind. She sits down on the bed beside Molly, eyeing her sidelong, but soon looking at straight at the door she entered by and sitting in silence. Eventually: "You want parenting? Fine. You need boundaries. First rule? Don't shoot the president. We have a deal, me and him." Jessica's voice takes on a slight but undeniably mocking tone. "You tell me where he is, and maybe I'll buy you ice cream. Hmm? Would you like that?"

The two have known each other for awhile. Niki knew Molly when she was still sweet and innocent. Before she was twisted in any way. Jessica, though, she only knows the Molly of now. Waiting out the silence, she kicks her legs out a little so her heels bounce off the side of the bed. It's like maybe she really /does/ just want to be a little girl again. Then, she swings her legs up, crosses them and faces Jessica. "He deserved it." Not that she wouldn't shoot him if he /didn't/ deserve it, but that's something totally different. "We've got a little deal going ourselves," she smiles slyly. "The President? Oh, don't worry. He's among the sheep. Of course, these sheep have been dead for a very long time. It's so bloody and violent in there, you can still /hear/ those poor lambs baaing. Such a pitiful sound."

Jessica cants her head to one side as if considering… and agreeing, for a moment. The president probably did deserve it, even before his softer half shot her in the gut. However, the more Molly speaks, the more the blonde ceases to have patience. "Quit it," she tells Molly. "Talk like a normal person for once and maybe I'll listen to you." She leans over her knees, arms dangling loosely between them. Her voice takes on a need-to-know edge. "What sorta deal?"

"Listen like a normal person and maybe you'll get it." Molly counters in a sing-song mocking voice. Not that she's talking or listening like a normal person. Jessica isn't /supposed/ to get what she's talking about. "He becomes my magic Genie and I don't shoot him any more. I thought it was quite reasonable." Of course, she's also lying, but that's for more debate. And with Molly, you never know when she's telling the truth. Almost everything she says is a lie.

Jessica is skilled in the art of lies. Knowing when someone is lying comes with the territory, but to Molly, she just levels a harsh, threatening look. … for a second, that's all it is, at least. She grabs the growing girl's hand between them on the bed's edge, yanking just enough to jostle Molly. As she does, she says, "Don't get in the way. He's in my pocket." And vice versa? "But no deal's any use to us if he's killed by some…" She shakes her head incredulously, her loose blond hair swaying. "Sloppy terrorists." Although the once-fractured woman's hand stays exactly where it is on the girl's, her other moves to touch Molly's face, at her cheekbone. It's almost tender, especially in comparison. Her voice drops a level, and she … smiles. "Tell me where he is."

Jostled and pulled, Molly just allows herself to be pulled. She knows by now that fighting it only leads to more pain than is worth it. "And maybe he's in mine, too." Because, really, a fourteen year old girl /needs/ to have a world leader under her thumb. "Oh, they're not /that/ sloppy. Just idealistic and kind of stupid. Their leader's fun to push around." Who else would have let her have a car just for threatening to expose him? "He's with the Saints." That's answer. Maybe not the answer she was looking for, but it's an answer.

"Jack," Jessica voices aloud with a hint of an amused laugh. Narrowing her eyes ever-so-slightly and turning her head just a touch as she regards Molly carefully, she holds the girl's face in her hand "…you took something from him," she discerns, starting to smirk as she understands. "You're blackmailing the leader of the Saints, aren't you. Hm," she tips her head back, as well as Molly's, and her smirk broadens, turns more wicked — she almost looks impressed.

"Uncle Jack's such a good sport," Molly grins wistfully. As if she really /does/ like Jack. "All I did was take his car. Men and their cars. He seemed so attached to this one for some weird reason. Shame I didn't get a chance to paint it pick like I wanted. Not like I asked him for his /girlfriend/ or anything. God." There's a wry grin as she matches Jessica's smirk. "Just wanted to see what he'd give up. Really, I probably could have gotten more, but I didn't have the heart." It was just too sweet. "Of course, deals are always open for re-negotiation. You taught me that one."

"Hm. Good girl." Jessica gives the girl two slaps on the face— but don't worry, folks, it's just a harmless pat-pat. "Uncle Jack's an ace in the hole. Now. Are you going to tell me what I need to know or not, kiddo?" She angles a leg onto the bed to face Molly more fully, staring her in the eye.

"What'll you give me? And don't give me that ice cream crap. I got a /car/ out of Jack." Can she drive? Obviously not as there's no lovely car parked outside of S*Y*N headquarters. But that's not the point. "Everyone so far's been pretty creative with their gifts." As for Jessica? Well, she's not sure she can think of what the woman should give her. She'll let /her/ decide.

Spoiled brat. "This isn't enough?" Jessica counters, glancing around the room — and the building beyond the walls - in indication. Her mood turns, just like that: dark and threatening, not that it was particularly sunny before. Or ever. "How about I keep you safe from all the—" (other) " —people who want to use you, and do you the favour of not tearing your pretty head off?" she forces through her teeth. Still holding one of Molly's hands, Jessica now holds it up between them, tightening her grip in a mockery of a loving gesture. "Or I could get more creative, would you like that? Huh? There's a lotta ways a little girl can die. Tell me. Where. He is."

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Really, she's just pushing boundaries as a lot of children do. Seeing what she can get, what people will give her before they snap. So far, Molly has gotten most of the outrageous things she's asked for. It's kind of refreshing to be told no. "Huffy huffy." Moving with Jessica, she just keeps up her pretty little smile to go with her pretty little head. "But you called me pretty, so I'll let you in on the secret." No, she's not actually sane at all. "He's at the Weischel Carcass House. Heavy guard."

Weischel Carcass House. Jessica breaks into a satisfied smirk, her eyes, dark blue in this light, lowering into slits. Something about the location she's fed must amuse her, since she laughs briefly under her breath. "I could kiss you right now." She doesn't. What she does do, however, is let go of Molly's hand, stand up, and brush her fingers through the girl's hair as she steps away. "I'm going out." Not that her whereabouts are ever a mystery to Molly. "Be a good girl."

Whatever it is that amuses Jessica, Molly doesn't get. But, then, there /are/ some things that the little girl doesn't understand. Or can't take advantage of. As strange an idea as that may be. Wrinkling her nose at the idea of being kissed, she quickly scrambles backwards, even if the older woman doesn't make a move to do so. Putting on her best, sweetest smile she says in a sickeningly sappy voice, "You know me. I'm always good, mama bear."

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